Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,98

“She studied under Monsieur Barbier, the French scientist who invented a type of writing called Ecriture Nocturne. It was invented as a sort of code for the military, but it is being used as a way for the blind to read and write.”

“You can read and write?” the earl asked, sounding more intrigued than disbelieving.

“Of a fashion,” Nash said. “I’d be happy to show you later. It is basically a system of raised dots that correspond to letters. I can feel the raised marks and can put the letters together into words and thus sentences.”

“I see.”

Nash’s breathing had slowed. He was doing well. He knew he was doing well. Rowden had stepped in and allowed him to gain control of himself. The stakes were still high—his very life hung in the balance—but Nash had lived with stakes like that before and maintained his composure. He had to do it again.

“I will admit,” the earl said, “that the house looks better than I expected, though I only made a cursory appraisal, and my son looks healthy and sober. That is an improvement. But there’s still the matter of the pistol pointed at my head.”

Nash stiffened.

“Even now he has it in his pocket,” the earl said. “I can see him touching it as though it were some sort of talisman. You must admit he is still a danger to others and quite possibly himself.”

“My lord,” Nash said, reigning in his anger. “I am standing right here. If you want to say something to me, say it.”

“Very well. I think you need help. Help neither I nor Mr. Payne can give you. Help only a doctor can provide.”

“Is that what they are doing in asylums now?” Nash asked, voice carefully light. “Providing help? I thought that was where wealthy families sent their black sheeps to avoid further embarrassment.”

“Is that what you think of me?” the earl said. “That I want to send you away because you’ve embarrassed me?”

“Haven’t I?”

“Yes, but—”

“So you’re willing to lock me up for the rest of my life so you can walk among your wealthy friends without having to explain a blind son—a cripple.”

“I don’t see you that way. You’re still the same to me.”

“Then you don’t see me, because I am not the same. I’m blind, and yes, I’m haunted by the things I saw and the things I did. All the more reason for you not to come storming into this house and my room without any warning. I regret how I reacted, but I was...” How to explain how he’d felt? How to explain the world he was transported to when the sound of a loud bang or a sudden shock jolted him? “I was not myself. I don’t know how to explain it. But I go back to the war. Back to a time when the enemy is firing, and I can’t see how I will ever get out alive. Back to the smoke burning my eyes and the smell of blood and offal and there’s only one weapon I have against the death all around me.” Nash pulled his pistol out of his pocket, pointing it at the floor.

His father took a breath, and in the ensuing silence Nash heard the clock on the mantel ticking.

“I had no idea,” the earl said, finally. “That sounds like a hellscape, and I do apologize for causing you to remember such a time.”

Nash took a step back. The words were such a surprise to him that he wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined them. Was his father actually trying to understand? Nash hadn’t thought anyone would ever understand, least of all his father. For a moment, he had the urge to go to his father, embrace him as he had when he’d been a boy. Pru would have told him to go and hug him tightly, but Nash held back because he did not know if his father would accept an embrace. And he did not yet trust his father. The threat of the asylum still hung between them.

“But this revelation of your mental state only underscores the need for help.”

And there it was. They were back to the asylum.

“Nash does need help,” Rowden said. “And he has received help. I am here. Miss Howard is here. Clopdon and Mrs. Brown are here—all offering help each day. He is making improvements, but it’s not something that will happen overnight. I asked for time, my lord, and I need more of it. Your son needs more time. I think